


The Nobody

by shingo_the_pest



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bat Family, Bottom Dick Grayson, Discussion of Abortion, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mpreg, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shingo_the_pest/pseuds/shingo_the_pest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an unplanned pregnancy comes up, Dick struggles with what to do. But a dark presence in his life is going to make things difficult in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: Archive warnings on this fic are OFF. This fic is not the darkest out there, but I also do not forewarn in this particular story for things that may come up because it would reveal the entire (admitted not great) plot. 
> 
> For those who think they might want to go forward but need warnings to take care of themselves, feel free to ask questions in the comments. :)

_Saturday_

He’s heading to Gotham and Wayne Manor for the first time since March. Gotham is only an hour away, but there’s been too much going on in Bludhaven to let him visit. But today is special. Bright sunlight, clear skies, and the rare chance to sleep in. Today’s the day he’s had marked on his calendar for weeks.

He had time to go through his morning routine first, stretching slowly through plank to handstands. Working the tight pain out his calves and hamstrings felt especially good and he lingered long in upward staff, feeling an odd pressure through it. He’s hanging in firefly when the phone rings.

“Master Richard.”

“Hey Alfred. Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

“Excellent to hear that, as I have been preparing the duck since last night. There will also be roasted peaches and cherry clafoutis.”

“Mmmmmm. I don’t know what that is, but it sounds good.”

“I have spent the last week freshening every room in the mansion in preparation for today, down to the dark interiors of your bathroom’s cabinets. Please do not be late, dinner will be at 5 pm sharp."

“Don’t worry, I’ve got time-" It was almost 1 pm. “Whoa! I mean, yeah, I’ve still got time. Let me get dressed and I’ll just…”

“I’ll leave you to it Master Richard. Don’t spoil your appetite.”

Dick ate dry cereal (because the milk smelled funny, even though it looked fine) and grabbed a donut (or several) from the gas station when he filled up. He scarfed them down and licked his fingers before pulling his helmet on and heading out of the city.

Tim and Babs would be there tonight, and possibly Cassandra Cain too. He never spent enough time with that girl; phone calls with her weren’t great, neither was email or letters. Maybe they should Skype? And set up a night date with her. (If he could keep it.) Maybe a night date with her and Tim? Though when he was going to find the time for all that…

At least he kept in good contact with Babs and Damian. Babs and he talked over the computer throughout the week, and Damian had a strictly scheduled phone call with him every Saturday morning. But he needed to check in with Tim more often. They were both busy, and they talked when they could catch each other. Tim seemed fine, but this year had been really hard on the kid. They hadn’t really connected lately, and Dick needed to work on that. Hell, Bludhaven was so close to home but this year had really shown how much distance there was too. Not that Bruce helped.

He and Bruce… they would be fine during dinner and through patrol, but at some point Bruce would bring up Bludhaven and Blockbuster or the League of Assassins. And he’s insinuate that Dick should’ve done _this_ , or _that_. He’d find something Dick had missed or left out… He always found some flaw in everything Nightwing did. The tension between then had ate at their relationship when Dick was younger. He’d struck out on his own because it’d gotten so bad. But he was above it now. If Bruce got harder on each of them as they got older, then you just had to get tougher skinned.

He pulled the bike over on the interstate, feeling nauseous with anxiety. Dick had to be the bigger man in all this. He’d come to terms with that. He’d grown out of the adolescent hostilities. He just…was maybe a little bit afraid. Tonight would be the first time he really spent with them all since the…new stuff started. Would Bruce see right through him? Would Alfred? Would Barbara?

Guilt churned in his stomach and he could taste bile coming up.

“You doing okay there Bluebird?”

Dick looked up from where he’d been staring unseeing at the helmet in his lap, shocked to see Jason standing a few paces behind him on the highway shoulder. Jason had parked his own bike about ten feet back. “Jay? What are you doing here?”

“Saw that both chickees were home last night. And the little Batgirl too. So I thought you might be coming in.”

“You staked out the freeway?”

Jason shrugged and hooked his hand on his belt. Dick knew that belt and jacket were loaded with weapons, and there were probably guns tucked in the back of his pants too.

“Maybe I just wanted to know if there was something going down I needed to be aware of.”

“Oh. No. No, nothing that I’m aware of. We’re just having a-” …family dinner.

But Jason seemed to pick up on what he didn’t say, eyes narrowing. “Fine. Whatever then.” He turned and walked away. “Enjoy your little visit.”

“You can come too!”

But Jason was already back to his bike. “Go choke on a dick, Grayson.” And he zoomed off, engine roaring, passing too close and rocking Dick’s own bike. Dick sighed and watched him disappear.

\---

The manor was full. Damian was elated to see him, in his own scowling way. Dick wrangled a hug from the kid, which was greatly protested. With everyone around him, Dick couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

He stole hugs from Babs and Tim, and got away with an arm around Alfred’s shoulder. “This smells so good! Mmmmmm, is that plum sauce? And cherry cafwee?”

“Out, Master Richard. All of you, out!”

Bruce was sitting in his favorite chair reading, and Dick could see the quiet good humor on his face. Cassandra was silently exploring the bookshelves with a light hand.

“You finally made time,” Bruce chastised.

“It was hard to pull myself away. I laid a big smack down on Cardellis last night so hopefully they’ll be too sore to get into trouble tonight.”

Bruce nodded in approval. “I’m looking forward to patrol with you.”

Dick couldn’t help but grin at that.

“Bruce isn’t telling you about the incident with Ivy last week,” Babs dropped as she poured herself some tea.

Bruce mumbled something that sounded grumpy and sarcastic, and then hid behind his paper.

Dick bit down on his smile. “And what’s the news with you?” He asked Oracle, sitting on the arm of her wheelchair. Which never worked well. Babs automatically reached out an arm to the delicate looking tea cart to stabilize them.

“Nothing we haven’t talked about already. Helena went out last night and made her ankle worse.”

Behind his paper, Bruce snorted.

“Well, tell her _I_ hope she feels better, and to take care of herself.” Dick advised. In a faux whisper, "Nothing old stubborn himself wouldn't have done."

Babs hummed neutrally in response. “What about the League of Assassins? You haven’t had much to update since they appeared in Bludhaven.” She sipped her tea.

Tim had joined them, sitting down on the leather loveseat next to Bruce’s chair, just listening to the conversation. The other half of the loveseat sat empty. Damian was with Cassandra in the corner, apparently telling her with great prejudice about a book she was holding. Dick warily answered, “…not much has happened since I stopped the chemical leak. They’re still in the area, but they haven’t made any moves.”

Bruce looked over his newspaper. “If they weren’t making a move of some sort, they wouldn’t still be there. You’ve been bare on the details with them for the last four months.”

“They don’t like Blockbuster anymore than I do. Believe it or not, I’m handling it.” Dick’s voice was impatient.

Tim’s eyes widened and his gaze flicked between them.

“If you were handling it, you’d be giving us better information,” Bruce’s voice was steel.

“I’m busy. And I’m using my own methods here.”

“And what are your methods?” Barbara calmly interjected.

God damn it. What was he going to tell them? “People skills,” he deadpanned.

Bruce didn’t look impressed. Tim was quietly bewildered, and Babs might have hidden a scoff behind her tea cup. Dick thought of getting up and joining Damian and Cass, but he didn’t want to look like he was running away. “I ran into Jason on my way here.”

“What?” That caught Tim and Babs off guard. 

“I tried to invite him,” he added, after telling the story.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Tim argued. He’d been sitting with a leg crossed before, imitating Bruce. Now his knees were pressed together.

“He was hurt we hadn’t invited him.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly what he said.”

“We could go out and find him tonight?”

Babs shook her head. “Like that wouldn’t come off as a threat. Are we supposed to hug him on the holidays and fight him during the work week?”

“He wanted to know if something was wrong, okay? He has our backs. Like Selina does.”

Bruce had been staring out the window since Jason was brought up. Now he turned and gave Dick a penetrating look.

“Selina didn’t kill five men this week,” Tim fought back.

“M-mm?” Cassandra gestured to the loveseat and Tim shook out of his seriousness and scooted over eagerly, even though there had been plenty of space. Cass sat down and set War and Peace on her lap.

Damian chose to stand next to his father, arms crossed and looking a lot like a mob boss’s right hand man. “Dinner will be ready soon,” he announced, like everyone hadn’t been watching the clock. Dick’s stomach rumbled loudly at the mention.

“Someone’s hungry,” Babs teased and poked him in the side. “And you’re looking a bit thicker than usual Dick.”

Dick sighed and remembered the three donuts from this morning (afternoon really). And the milkshake and hamburger from yesterday, and the pizza from the day before that. “I’ll start with a salad.”

\---

Dinner was amazing. Alfred preened as they ate. Bruce carved the duck, which was so rich and heavy that Dick had trouble finishing. Still he managed to have a bite of everything and really gorged himself on the cherry custard.

“I see your sweet tooth never fails,” Alfred noted.

Damian finished the duck for them, fighting over it with Tim, so Dick didn’t feel too bad.

After clean up, they all dozed and laid about. Dick meant to go through the archive reports today or tomorrow, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to lift a foot. Eventually they suited up. Babs took her place in front of the computer, willfully not saying anything as Dick squeezed into one of the Batcave’s Nightwing suits. Dick scowled at her as she hummed.

Nightwing accompanied Batman and Robin in the Batmobile. Red Robin and Batgirl followed behind. There was something very satisfying in seeing the shock on Maroni gang when they realized the full force of the Bat clan were on them.

Batgirl was as terrifying as Batman at work. Red Robin hung close behind Nightwing, directing him a few times. It felt good to be working as a duo, and the kid had a knack for strategy. Oracle was in their ears, but Nightwing had let their arrogant little Robin out of sight, and he didn’t realize it until he heard the shot and the yell; saw a thug go down in the corner of his eye, Robin in his grip.

They rushed over, but Robin was fine. “Don’t go off on your own!” Which had started a bitch fight, but everyone was okay. And the thug was dead from a shot between the eyes.

They stayed out until 4 am when activity started to die down. At home Alfred was waiting with Babs. Dick stretched out his tired legs. Tim unhooked his wings and gear. “Need some help with that?” Dick offered.

“Thanks."

“You know, you and I need to go out one of these nights. Been too long since-”

Tim and he discussed it, while Bruce went over to the console with Oracle and reviewed the night’s footage. Tim turned around and helped him undress when Alfred approached, holding a tray with caliper, measuring tape, syringe, and other tests.

“I was wondering when you’d ambush me Alfie.”

“It has been four months since we last took a sample from you.”

Tim looked surprised. “You were just in Gotham-”

“March. Crazy, ain’t it?” Dick ran a hand through his sweaty bangs.

“Which is precisely why I am ambushing you now instead of waiting until the morning.”

Being poked and prodded while sitting around half naked in the Batcave was nothing unusual. Though Dick could have gone without the humiliation of Alfred measuring his waist and tutting while everyone was there.

“I know, I know. I’ve been eating too much crap.”

“Well, I don’t encourage you to cut calories Master Richard. But yes, better nutrition would no doubt help solve the problem.” Dick rolled his eyes, so Alfred pinched him with the calipers, then took a blood sample. Hard to believe but it’d been nine hours since dinner. Alfred would try to get another sample in the morning before Dick ate breakfast.

“Can’t I have a snack before bed?” Dick whined.

“Two point three percent.” Alfred threw back at him succinctly.

“What?! No! I knew I’d gone up a bit, but two percent?!”

“You’re now at eleven percent body fat.”

“God _damn_ it,” Dick literally threw the towel from his neck and stormed upstairs - Bruce, Babs, and everyone watching. He felt pissy and embarrassed and out of control of himself. He’d known he was getting just a little bit of softness on his sides, but he thought as long as he kept up his workouts he would be fine. He was running twenty or more miles a night on the roofs.

He fell back on his bed, the sheets soft and fresh. He didn’t have fresh sheets at his apartment in Bludhaven. He didn’t know when he’d last changed them. He had a big pile of dirty underwear to wash and he kept buying new pairs when he ran out.

He couldn’t keep his body right. He couldn’t find time to spend with the people he loved. He couldn’t fix the police department. He couldn’t take out the gangs. And he only handled the league by-

He covered his face with a pillow and wished he could hide.

\---

It was 11 am when Alfred came in with a tray.

“Don’ wanna…” Dick complained.

“As much as you need your beauty sleep, I am rather eager to get your blood and urine. And I have a very full, very healthy breakfast here for you.”

Dick dragged himself from the comfortable sheets, aware of how much he probably stank. “Bacon?”

“None of that, sir.”

Dick caught sight of eggs, fruit, and whole grain toast as he trudged to the bathroom, little plastic cup in hand. He washed off his hands and face with soap, knowing a full shower would have to wait until Alfred was done with him.

Alfred took a larger blood sample from him this time. “Is something wrong?” Dick asked, trying not to be alarmed.

“I’m sure you are in no danger,” Alfred soothed. “Have you been feeling well?”

“Is this about that stomach bug?” Dick was surprised Alfred had caught onto it. “I mean, I figured it wasn’t really a bug since it kept hanging around. More of a stress thing.”

He expected to hear, “Stress could lead to the weight gain,” or “One who shares their worries, splits their worries Master Richard,” but Alfred just hmmmmed and set the breakfast tray over Dick’s lap. “Get some extra sleep if you feel tired Master Richard. And do shower before leaving the room.”

Dick didn’t go back to bed, and lingered long under the warm water. It wouldn’t run out here in the mansion.

Alfred was back when Dick finished showering. The old butler was sitting in the arm chair beside the bed and Dick started to really feel worried.

“Alfred?”

“Please sit, Richard.”

Dick sat obediently, feeling like a kid again about to be told he was being sent away from Haley’s.

Alfred took a breath. “I don’t know how to deliver this news, so here are the results from last night’s blood test, and this morning’s, and the urine.”

Alfred handed him a printout.

Dick stared at the words.

Alfred watched him for a brief while, then stood up to go look out the window. A dog woofed and Dick thought he could hear Damian laughing.

He reread the words. Again.

Alfred laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I… You have to do it again,” Dick offered his arm, begging.

Alfred slipped back into the chair across from him, hand on Dick's arm. “I ran the test twice last night and used up the blood sample. I did it twice this morning. The urine too.”

“But I-” Dick floundered, feeling like he was treading in the middle of the ocean. “I was always careful. Every time. And I’ve never missed a pill, never. Not since I was nineteen.”

Alfred sighed deeply. Dick bit his lip and laid his face in his hands, feeling like he could cry. How? When? And then he desperately, direly hoped this was from that one night stand in February.

“How far along am I?” Dick demanded, then looked back down to the paper, wondering if he’d missed it.

“Almost two months sir.”

Shit. Shit shit **shit** shit _shit_.

“I have to go,” he gasped wetly.

“Master Richard,” Alfred tried to placate.

“No, I have to go.” Dick pulled a clean shirt on and the pants from last night, scrambling for his overnight bag, then deciding he just didn’t need it, and grabbed his wallet and keys. At the bedroom door he stopped. “Does Bruce know?”

Alfred watched him sadly. “No. I won’t tell them unless you want me to.”

Dick smiled, a broken and ashamed smile. “Thank you Alfred,” and he slipped away, down the hall, out the garage, and drove off. Damian tried to wave at him, Titus taking off in a run for the motorcycle, but Dick zoomed passed. He didn’t want to see if there was a figure watching from the master bedroom window.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crap, I totally forgot about Damian's vegetarianism. The timeline is greatly in flux here, so we'll say he hasn't gotten there yet. Ages and timeline are a little screwy, though hopefully it won't be noticeable. 
> 
> And back in the first chapter I said that Dick ran “twenty or more miles a night on the roofs.” That’s nearly a marathon. (Oops.) And while that is possible ability wise and time wise (elite runners can do a marathon in under 3 hrs, so Dick can definitely do that distance on the roofs within a night), it’s not a great idea to be going that far every night from a recovery stand point. There’s skeletal and cellular damage from running a marathon, and it’s not uncommon for professional athletes to go easy on their bodies for 1-2 weeks after a marathon, or risk over-training which will lose gains. Dick isn’t competing, but his long term performance is important, so I was thinking of changing the number to "ten miles a night".
> 
> Then I heard about the Raramuri (Tarahumara) people in Mexico who can run 200 miles in a single (two day) session. I couldn't find anything on how much they run in their daily lives, but I'm betting twenty miles is easy peasy. They probably have an evolutionary advantage, but what they do is also no doubt influenced by daily habits they've had all their lives. So just how much can a human run in a day, every day of their life? Especially one that's been maintaining this high level of activity since they were a kid?
> 
> I don't know. But ultimately, I decided to leave Dick at his crazy 20 miles a night. Don't try this at home kids.
> 
> Also interesting, the Raramuri people are the inspiration for the barefoot running craze going on right now.
> 
> Marathon Recovery:  
> http://running.competitor.com/2013/09/training/the-importance-of-recovery-after-a-marathon_59478
> 
> Raramuri People  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rar%C3%A1muri_people

_Sunday_

At first he headed for the interstate. But before he could hit the boulevard he turned and went down the familiar city streets. They weren't a balm, but he didn't think anything could be right now. Maybe he just wasn't ready to go back to Bludhaven, the scene of the crime.

He zoomed down the streets, seeing the changes that had cropped up during the past year, and his mood darkened.

A couple patrol cops caught him speeding around and gave chase. Stupid, stupid. He lost them down the pedestrian confusion of Market Street, then hid his bike in one of the old spots and took off on foot.

How stupid do you have to be to let this happen? And god, in _this_ way? He was going to be the biggest fuck up in the family. The one who got knocked up by-

He stopped in front of a run down pharmacy. He went in.

The cashier didn't say anything as Dick bought six different pregnancy tests. The dour man's eyes scanned over Dick as he rang up the items. Dick stared at the watch batteries for sale on the counter. Was it visible? Was the fat showing? Was he hot, the type of hot that liked to get into trouble? Dick had always felt so proud of his body. But now he just felt dirty.

He walked back out onto the humid sidewalk. What would his parents have thought? They had wanted him to find a nice, athletic partner to settle down with. Someone who could be his partner in the circus. What would Bruce think? This would disappoint him so badly. Worse than disappointment, would he be furious? Would he refuse to talk to Dick? Cast him out? And Tim, the kid looked up to him. He'd never look at Dick that way ever again. And Damian... Babs...

He turned just in time to puke in the alley and not the side walk.

He retched again, losing the eggs, the fruit, and probably the duck.

He heaved again, concrete to his knees, pulling the plastic bag out of the way so it wouldn't get anymore chunks on it. He heard something, someone, land heavy in the alley.

"So. I guess sometimes it's better to miss the family reunion."

Dick leaned his head against the brick wall and tried to breath.

"B didn't try to cook, did he?"

Dick laughed, hoarse. "God no. Small favors." He opened his eyes. Red Hood stood in the shadows.

"I'm okay," Dick told him, answering the question Jason wouldn't ask. "I'm not dying. Not yet."

Red Hood nodded and short of anything to say, like concerns or offers of help, scanned the area for danger.

Dick got to his feet and took a few shaky breaths. He really wasn't up for driving, not unless he had to. "Are there any good places to eat around here?"

Hood tilted his head. "Chinese on the corner."

The thought, usually delicious, made him queasy.

Jason chuckled meanly. "There's also a sandwich place back by the gas station."

"Thanks." Dick picked up his plastic bag, letting the unpleasant bits just slid off, and turned to go. "Oh. For last night too. For Damian."

Jason nodded, ducking his head and turning away.

Dick wanted to add, "You're always welcome with us," but that was a fight and conversation he didn't have energy for so he just said, "It was nice having all of us together," and left.

Dick bought two roast beef subs for now and later, then checked himself into a cheap motel. He wasn't going to do this in a public restroom.

He checked the perimeter then pulled the blinds shut. He chugged his first bottle of Gatorade, and took a few bites of a sandwich.

Of course when he read the test directions they said not to drink too much. Stupid, stupid. He didn't care. He cautiously finished off the sandwich as he waited the five minutes.

Positive. A negative! Positive. Positive. Positive, positive.

"The odds aren't exactly stacked in my favor here," he told the lone little negative, the cheapest of the sticks. "This is what, ten against one?" He threw it with the rest and fell back against the bed. And cried.

\---

He woke up to a tapping on the window.

"Hey! You dead in there?"

Dick groaned and rolled up. It was 2 AM, and he felt drained. He wanted to just lay there, and stare at the brown paisley bedspread for an eternity.

Tap, tap, harder this time. "Hey! I don't want to be the one to tell the Big B that you offed yourself, so you'd better not be dead!" He could hear Jason jimmying the window now, so Dick sighed and dragged himself up.

"I'm not dead," he told Red Hood when he flung the curtains open and unlocked the window. Which had already been broken. Dick sighed and didn't complain. He stepped back and let Red Hood crawl in.

"Good, because that's a conversation I didn't want to have." Jason stood there awkwardly as he realized he wasn't sure what to do now. Dick reached for his second sandwich, feeling hungry but wondering how long it took to go bad. He eyed the meat suspiciously.

"I, uh...came back round here to make sure you were...yeah."

Dick threw a Gatorade at him. "Thanks. You didn't have to." He decided to throw the meat away and eat just the bread. "Is there any place open at this time?" Food. Food was better than thinking.

Red Hood was looking around for clues of a crime scene or hidden cameras or a noose or something besides just a hotel room. "Pizza place on Lincoln is still open. Or Taco Bell."

Both sounded appealing. And a little gross. Still, "Taco pizza sounds good right now. With anchovies. And pineapple," he said as he finished off the bread.

Jason gave him a weird look, having finally taken off his helmet for a drink of Gatorade. Jason had never been known to forgo anchovies or pineapple. Though he didn't eat them together outside of that one attempt to gross out Barbara and Alfred. "Sure, if that's what you want."

"You gonna go get it?"

"No. I am not your late night delivery boy."

"Let's go get it."

"Together?"

"Yeah, we'll eat there."

Jason was coaxed out of his domino and they took Dick's bike to the pizza place. Part of him was thinking pizza wasn't a good idea, but he was ravenously hungry. If Jason wasn't a full grown man, Dick could have pretended they were kids again, and he was taking this brat out for junk food to win him over. Hell, wasn't he still trying to win Jason's trust?

Jason was grown. (Dead and grown.) Tim had gotten bigger. Hell, even Damian had shot up a couple inches since he first barreled into their lives. They were all growing up. But Dick wasn't ready to be a real adult.

They ordered one pepperoni and one taco with extras and sat down to wait. Dick paid, because he did for all the kids, even the grown up anti-hero one. Jason leaned back and puffed up with his arms spread across the whole booth seat. It looked a whole lot more impressive now than when he tried to do it at fifteen. Dick briefly wished Babs were here too, and it's be like the old days. But Oracle didn't look kindly on Red Hood now. She's try to send Jason on his way. And Dick wanted company (and didn't that get him in trouble) and he wanted food and maybe it was just a little bit safer to have Jason at his back, just in case he got sick again or trouble showed up. (God, what was he going to do in a fight? Was it safe to fight? Should he care? He didn't even know how he felt about this. He didn't want to think about this.)

"You gonna tell me what the hell's up with you?" Jason finally demanded.

"I'm compromised," Dick admitted quietly.

"How?" Jason asked, watching the cook through the kitchen window, then the diner's entrance.

"...just...little stuff. I might get sick again. Stomach flu or something."

"Sure. What does that have to do with your drive around town and your little shut in tonight?" Jay tapped his fingers on the table, his gloves still on. "Did you guys have a fight or something?" He tried to keep the glee out of his voice.

"Not yet. But we will."

"Oh?" Jason leaned forward, eyes intent, but had to put a lid on it because the pizzas came. Dick scarfed down the first piece of salty sweet taco goodness. He'd be fine. He wouldn't get sick. He got through a feast last night and had even gone on patrol and been fine in the morning.

"It's Bludhaven," he explained. "We're dealing with the mafia and the league and a dirty police force. You know about my job?"

"I heard." Jason shrugged. He was undoubtedly keeping tabs on all their civs. "You chose the hard way of cleaning that place up, Wonder Boy."

"There's good people on the force," Dick stressed.

"I'm not saying you have to blow the place up. Just put pressure in the right places."

"Well...I am." Dick relaxed. "And I'm doing it right. I want the good cops to get control over the force. Not Nightwing."

"Slow route."

"Yeah, it is slow." Dick sighed and remembered he had work in less than six hours. "But it wasn't the police force we were arguing about. It was the League of Assassins."

Jason nodded sagely. There was no way he hadn't noticed the activity. That's probably why he reached out yesterday. Or the day before. Whenever that was.

Jason leaned back in his seat and watched him silently. "I was hoping B would be making a big move."

"We don't have a plan yet," Dick admitted.

They sat in silence and stared at their pizza for a while.

"So, why _don't_ you have a plan yet? Missing intel? Not getting your job done in Bludhaven?" Jason put it on him and Dick swallowed his frown.

"Because their activity has died down. I put an end to it."

"So you stopped their plans single-handedly and now we don't know what the fuck they're going to do."

"Oh screw you," Dick snarled and left, stalking out of the diner.

Jay was behind him, "No, none of this explains your little fucking pity party. If this was what you and Bruce were fighting over, then what is it that you're _going_ to fight over? What does he not know yet?"

Dick was on the bike; he could just take off. Fuck Bruce. Fuck Jason. But the part of Dick that still saw Jay as a kid wouldn't just leave him there.

He stared at Jay for a long moment. Adult Jay. With big broad shoulders, and the scrap of white hair from things he shouldn't have had to go through. Big biceps. A bit of stubble shadowing that handsome jaw. The same damn scowl that he had at fifteen.

Dick smiled hopelessly. "I fucked up Jay. Bruce will find out." He looked away from Jason's narrowed eyes, to the black starless sky. "And then he'll do some digging and find out how much I really fucked things up."

The night air was stagnant, the crickets sung in the trash, and sirens screamed over on Jefferson.

"...do you need help burying the bodies?"

Dick's heart warmed, and he really, really wanted to hug Jason. "No. Well, maybe."

Jason's eyebrows raised.

Dick waved him back onto the bike. Jay's arms wrapped around him this time, instead of gripping the back bar. His thighs bracketed Dick's, warm and strong, and they took off.

\---

The motel room was the same as they'd left it.

"You driving to Bludhaven now?" Jason asked.

Dick wondered about getting sleep and the drive and being a cop and if he'd have to turn in his badge or if they'd put him on desk duty, and what would happen if the wrong people found out he was pregnant, and just stopped thinking.

"I'm going to sleep."

"Pity party ain't over, huh."

"Go fuck yourself," Dick told him without conviction and crawled into bed face first.

\---

Dick fell asleep quickly and Jason didn't think it even took thirty seconds.

What could Wonder Boy have done that had him so spooked? Jason had been entertaining thoughts of Nightwing murdering a mob boss, or letting a big bad get away, or failing Bruce in some the-task-was-obviously-impossible way.

Whatever it was was Bludhaven related. Dick was putting off going back, and Bruce would probably know whatever it was already if it had had happened in Gotham. Or Bruce _did_ know already and was waiting for Dickiebird to crack.

When the shit hit the fan it was either going to be hilarious or miserable, and Jason wished he knew so he could grab some popcorn or leave town. (Or it could be nothing at all and this was just another day in the life of Drama Queen Grayson.)

Dickhead was tucked in safely. Jason should go. Though he'd take a piss before putting the helmet back on. And if Dick minded, then fuck him. (Dick wouldn't mind.)

...or maybe he would, Jason thought as he stared with wide eyes at the pregnancy tests in the bathroom trashcan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to thank everyone who has clamored, begged, and pleaded for this fic. Thank you to everyone who has continued to check for updates, to the anons on tumblr asking so sweetly, and to everyone who continues to leave comments here. They have all been read and cherished and spurred me to go back to the story folder and continue chugging away.
> 
> I'm terrified of fucking it up, but not posting anything is probably worse than any stupidity I could write. A lot of this fic has already been written, over 40K, but it's just...messy. I'm untangling it, and trying to wrap it into shape, but I'm scared of dropping threads, and not hitting all the beats, and making important story decisions. There's a few big ones that I'm still biting my nails over. But I want to see this story written and completed as much as you guys do. Thank you all.
> 
> Two chapters coming today, so hold tight.

When Dick was ten the yearly doctor’s check up had a little something extra.

“You’re very lean on fat,” the doctor said, tone neutral.

“But I eat like a horse!” Dick said with a grin.

“He does, he does,” his father sighed. “Dick is one of the performers, just like us. We eat for a very, very active life. But this last year, Dick has been eating us out of house and home.”

The doctor gave them a smile. “I’m afraid that’s only going to get worse before it gets better. Do you track your caloric balance?”

They got into an extensive debate about children and diet, whether Dick was eating enough, whether he was replenishing what he burned, and the athletic programs and coaching his parents really were experts on. Dick would understand later in life the difference between regular doctors and athletic doctors, but he also knew in hindsight how poor his parents were.

“And have you had him checked for a caudal opening?" The doctor asked. She was a cheerful, but persistent woman with long hair. It was hot and dirty in Las Vegas, and the whole troupe welcomed it after the humid hell that had been Georgia to Texas.

"He was checked when he was little. It's there, but we don't know if it'll develop," his father had answered with an embarrassed smile.

"Do you both have a functioning uterus?" The doctor asked.

"We both do," his dad admitted. "Mary carried him. She doesn't have the equipment to sire a kid, so… that's how it worked out."

"If both of you had fully developed wombs than he probably will too." To Dick she asked, "Have you ever had any aches or pain in your lower back?" He shook his head. "What about in your butt, any problem there?" He shook his head.

“Isn’t it a little early to be asking?” His dad pressed.

“Sexually, yes. But with a caudal opening, there’s always the risk of infection.”

“In my back?” Dick asked.

“In your butt,” she answered.

“Ewwww!”

“It’s right about here,” she motioned around the top of his buttocks. “It’s an opening within your anal canal that leads to the womb. Some men have it, some don’t. About 38% of males are born with it. Occasionally women can have it too, though it's pretty rare.”

“So…I can have kids two ways?”

“Probably. Sometimes things can go wrong on one end or the other, but we won’t know until you hit puberty.”

“Okay,” Dick shrugged, kinda grossed out now that the shock of having to talk about this was gone.

"You won't have to worry for a couple more years. But once the caudal uterual opening matures risk of infection gets higher.” She talked as she shined a light in his eyes. Then made him open his mouth. “About 30% of people with caudal openings get an infection at some point in their life. It usually leads to discomfort, itching, discharge, diarrhea, and sometimes fever, but there is the risk of serious complications. Infections could lead to scarring on the caudal cervix or within the uterus, which can lead to infertility or miscarriages. And infection can lead to death in the worst cases. You get that? Lower back pain can mean death. So let someone know if you have any pain, okay?" Dick nodded emphatically. "The sooner we catch a caudal infection the better."

"Now stand up,” she told him. His dad had his arms folded, and wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t interrupting either. The doctor felt along Dick’s lower back, pressing in around his spine. "Do you feel anything?" she asked. He didn't. "This is where the activity would be happening. Any tenderness around here?" She pressed in harder. It kinda hurt since she was pressing so hard, but he doubted that’s what she meant, so he shook his head.

“Do we…need to worry about wet blankets?” His father asked.

Outraged, Dick answered, “I don’t pee the bed!”

“Most children reach spermarche around thirteen, though it could happen as early as ten or nine, rarely.” The doctor looked at his dad. "When it comes to sexual activity, the first thing you need to be cautious about is ovarian development. His body will be building androgen as he gets closer to puberty, and the ovaries take less androgen to mature than the testes do. Pregnancy is possible even before his front equipment fully develops.”

His father looked from the doctor to Dick, with that heavy sigh he had when things went wrong. Dick looked away.

“Oh kid, you haven’t done anything wrong.” His father stepped forward and wrapped his strong arms around him. Dick leaned into the embrace. “I just wish you’d stay a kid.”

Later, when he's fourteen, the doctor that Bruce and Alfred take him to performs the same test. It's been done every year since he was ten. The doctor presses around on his backside, feeling for something just above the cleft of his buttocks. Dick feels a tender shock, a soreness under the doctor’s fingers. He gasps quietly, reaches out a hand to steady himself. The doctor's fingers ease. "Did you feel that?" Dick nods, face flushing. "I'm going to touch around there again, but more gently okay?" Dick nods reluctantly, and bites his lip as the doctor feels around his back again. It’s a tenderness located in a single spot. The doctor eases off, and gets the ultrasound machine.

“Looks like your uterual opening is maturing. I can see the cervix has grown in size. It’s usually barely there until puberty. Downward turned, like it should be.” The doctor explains in a fatherly tone. “Tell me Dick, have you had any unusual discharge with your bowel movements?”

“No?”

“That’s good. Let Alfred or Bruce know if that changes, alright?”

“Sure, I’ll let Bruce know if my poop is weird. That’ll be a fun conversation.”

“I mean it Dick, don’t shrug things like this off. And with a caudal opening, there’s an increased risk of infection. So if you ever any pain in your lower back-”

“Right’o Doc! I know the spiel.”

The examination had gone on a bit longer, talks about wet dreams (not yet, but it would happen later that year), the size of his testes, hair, acne, muscle pains, and lack of sleep.

He hadn’t let it show, but the whole thing greatly unnerved him. He was eager for the front parts to grow bigger, and completely not ready for the back stuff. He’d been deeply disappointed at how small he’d been at that age, in height and other parts. He was popular at school, but was still bullied, by the unpopular kids, by the other popular kids, by the tired teachers. Everything was a vicious race between sensitive and competitive students. If he hadn’t had Bruce, and hadn’t been so involved in his life as Robin, if crime fighting hadn't preoccupied his every waking moment, those years would have been much worse.

The doctor had taken him back where Alfred was waiting. “Congratulations, you have a grown one. It’s time to give him the safety talk.”

“About the hound dogs and the foxes?” Dick asked with a grin. “The chicks and the peacocks?”

Alfred gave him a look. “I’ll make sure Master Bruce keeps it to human animals when _he_ tells you all about it.”

“Awww Al, you don’t wanna tell me all about the dangly wranglies and the constrictor tunnels?”

“Say any more, and I may hang myself with my scarf. Thank you doctor and have a good day.”

Bruce had given him The Talk, under Alfred’s orders. Dick had had the time of his life, adding as much innuendo and terrible jokes and asking every mortifying sex question he knew. Bruce had gotten through it with stoicism, and a gleeful use of STD photography. Dick might have deserved that.

“But seriously, be cautious,” Bruce had warned with a teasing affection that had been common in the early years, but had disappeared as Dick had grown older. “If you get pregnant, or get someone else pregnant, then no more Robin. You hear me?”

“Ugh, I would never let that happen! And you always threaten to take away Robin from me. But you’d be toast without me there to help you.”

“All the more reason to be careful then. I need you there to watch my back, and you can’t do that if you have a kid of your own at home.”

“Whatever. I would never let that happen. Besides, I’m waaay too busy for a girlfriend.”

Of course, that was the year that Batgirl appeared.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important note on male body fat percentages: I’ve put the Bat boys within the range that athletes would fall into, which is much, much lower than the average male. Any guys reading this? Don't aim for these numbers, even if you're fit. Not unless you're working with an athletic coach and doctor.
> 
> American Council of Exercise  
> http://www.acefitness.org/acefit/healthy-living-article/60/112/what-are-the-guidelines-for-percentage-of/
> 
> Also, everything in here about police work is bullshit. I tried. I'm pretty sure I failed. And I hope, hope, hope I'm getting all the characters right.

_Monday_

Dick fumbled for the phone as it rang. That ring tone. It was important-

“Hello?” He croaked.

“Where are you Dick?” Amy demanded.

Oh no. “In Gotham?”

“You’re fired.” And she hung up.

No nonono nooo. It was 10:30 in the morning, he hadn’t called in, he was nowhere near the police department, and he sounded drunk.

His phone rang again. He grabbed for it.

“Amy-”

“You’re unfired. Get here by noon or you’re fired again.”

“Yes ma’am!” But she had hung up.

He scrambled for his things, properly disposed of all his trash, gave an apology and paid some extra cash for the window, and took off like a bat outta hell for the interstate.

He wasn’t sure if Amy could fire him. But she would probably make it happen if she wanted to.

He was going speeds that he really shouldn’t as a civilian (especially as a cop). If he spilled now, there’d be no gear except a helmet to save him. And wouldn’t that be a great way for Bruce to find out. “Wayne’s Ward Pregnant Dead 120 MPH to Bludhaven.” The press would be all over that.

\---

He got to Bludhaven in under forty five minutes. He walked casually into the precinct, but it felt like all the cops and suits knew exactly how late he was. The walk of shame.

As he entered the bullpen, he met eyes with Amy and nodded to her. She was at her desk, angry, and watching him.

“Hi,” he sat down.

Amy stared at him.

“I’m sorry, I went to go see my family over the weekend, and I just…”

“You hurt?”

He couldn’t help but feel relieved that she was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“Only my pride.”

“I reported you anyway.”

“Yeah.” Dick rubbed his temple, not surprised at all.

“Do you want us to go back to second shift? Or third?”

Life had been a lot easier on second shift. But it would be worse on third. “No ma’am.”

“Then don’t be an asshole.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Do some goddamn work.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Apparently they had been delegated to follow ups, inquiries, and quarterly reports. A glance to the board showed his and Amy’s names were crossed out for 50th and Roosevelt. Rogers and Smith had taken the beat.

Dick sighed again. “I’m sorry.”

Amy didn’t respond, just continued working.

Chief called him in not long after, and had Dick sign the write up. He already had two previous tardies, though not as bad as this. He had to be careful.

Bruce would have been juggling this job like a pro. Bruce would have been here half an hour early, and if he was assigned busywork like this he’d immediately catch a pattern. Dick wrote his reports, made his calls, and passed on leads to the detectives or the cops out on the street. If Bruce worked in Bludhaven, he’d have all this fixed, the whole city, after a year.

Dick was old enough to know that his expectations of Bruce weren’t realistic. But the certainty that Bruce could handle all of this better wouldn’t go away.

It was busywork, and it was boring, and he had no right to fidget. If they were out in the streets, he’d have been able to distract himself, but as it was all he could think about was how disappointed everyone was today, and how disappointed they were going to be - and those tests.  
  
He didn’t want to think about those tests. Every single positive.

How was he going to continue being Nightwing? How was he going to continue on the police force? When would he tell the force? (When would he tell Bruce?) Would they fire him? (Would Bruce fire him? Again?) (Bruce couldn’t fire him anymore. Bruce couldn’t stop him from doing whatever he wanted.)

But Bruce would just never speak to him again. — And Barbara wouldn’t either. And Tim, Tim would feel so sorry for him. He’d never look up to Dick again, would pity him because he was the family fuck up-

Amy slammed a new stack of files on his desk, then sat down with her own new stack. Dick realized his heart was racing. “Thanks,” he murmured, meaning it.

He wasn’t even finished his first stack. Amy, Bruce, Babs, Tim, they would have had it finished by now.

Amy and he continued working. Amy spoke to the utility company for records, to the bank for transactions, to the crazy old woman who kept calling in about a burglar they never found evidence of, but didn’t talk to him.

Dick started to feel ragingly hungry, but didn’t dare suggest food. Amy’s stomach rumbled, and his answered, but she made no move to stop and get lunch.

As they approached three o’clock, Dick snuck a glance at his phone. Nothing from Barbara, but one from Tim.

_Don’t worry, 11% isn’t bad. I’m at 10.75%._

He had to turn back to the papers in front of him and stare at them for a long time. Amy stopped for a moment, looked at him, but had enough pity to go back to what she was doing without asking.

Did everyone think he left in a hurry because of that? That he was so upset he had gained a little weight that he stormed out of the house without even saying goodbye? (He _was_ pissed. And the fat thing wasn’t going to get better.) There had to be a better excuse to give them. Tim was likely to start digging and figure it out on his own if Dick wasn’t careful.

He texted: _Sorry I just didn’t want to talk to Bruce._ And also: _Have some personal stuff going on_

Tim replied not even two minutes later. _It’s okay. :-)_

Amy said goodbye at four. She stood, grabbed her purse, and looked like she was going to go straight to the locker room, but ultimately turned to him and said, "I'm glad you're safe." Then she nodded and left.

He felt like even more of an asshole after that, watching her walk away through the crowd of dirty cops.

Dick stayed, to work his full eight hours. Now alone in the crowd, Dick couldn’t keep him thoughts from running wild.

He couldn't afford to be pregnant.

How had his mom felt when she got pregnant with him?

That shitty scare after high school.

How big he was going to get? This would really make him lose his shape.

His mom had bounced right back from pregnancy and looked great after. So had Stephanie Brown. If that girl was still here she might be the first one he’d tell. He could ask her about all the gory details. Tim probably knew all the gory details. But it didn’t feel right to ask him.

Alfred had said almost two months. That could be anywhere eight to fourteen weeks. (Why was it always counted in weeks?) He looked it up online and found drawings of little alien things, with fishy eyes and stubby limbs. It would be about an inch in length right now and weigh maybe a third of a pound. That much for something so small?

He stared at a picture, thinking, “That little peanut thing is inside me.” He rested his chin on his fist, and stared longer, then jumped to the next few weeks. Week nine it started moving around, though it couldn’t be felt yet. Week ten it’s elbows and knees can bend. Genitals start to develop at week eleven, though the gender wouldn't be distinguishable yet. Week twelve, typical weight gain is 1.5 to 5 pounds (he was already passed that point). Do not fret about stretch marks-

This was real. This was what was going to happen to him. He was going to get big, and fat, and ugly, and his skin would stretch out and would never be the same. All his organs would get squished and flattened. He furiously looked at fitness during pregnancy, and relaxed when he saw plenty of men and women working out even in the last month. Still.

Two months ago was May. This thing between them hadn’t been so new. That was when Dick had become sure this was a regular thing. Not quite as passionate, a little less naughty and dangerous. A little sweeter.

He’d always wanted kids. Day dreamed about playing ball and going out for hot dogs and training on the ropes with them. He’d ease his kids onto the pull up bars at three or four, the way he remembered his mom holding him up to the bar, lifting him while he pretended he was pulling himself up.

He had wanted at least one kid. Maybe two or three. Or more? He would definitely adopt, because there were so many kids who needed homes, older kids like he had been. But he also wanted to carry. Wanted to feel what it was like having a little baby growing inside him. Feel the baby's kicks. 

But he always thought that would be in a few years. Not right now. 

And he really shouldn’t be staring at this at work. The less than trustworthy chief could undoubtedly check all this, and so could Babs if she decided to look. His home computer was even more surveillanced, between Babs and Bruce and Tim. 

To cover his tracks he searched for baby gifts (that bouncer looked cool) and marked “Jeremy Baker Baby Shower” on his computer and desk calendar. One of Clancy’s friends was expecting, though Dick hadn’t heard anything about a baby shower. (But he’d get them that bouncer anyway. What kid wouldn’t love that?)

The big name book store was open late, so on his way home Dick bought a baby book, with cash.

\---

That night he paused in front of his Nightwing suit.

Should he? Should he go out there and beat up some bad guys? Get shot at, get kicked off a rooftop, get stalked by assassins? He hesitated, not knowing how he felt, or what to do.

There was a knock on his door. “Dick?” Clancy called.

He opened the door, “Hey!”

She smiled brightly, hands stuffed in her back pockets. “Hey you! Busy tonight? You’re always busy, but I figure I just have to try more often.”

He smiled boyishly. “You know what, I could use a little fun tonight.”

And that's exactly what they did.


	5. Chapter 5

He and Clancy had gone to a play that night, then for a late dinner. They’d walked back together under bright street lamps, laughing but watching the alleys and side streets. In Bludhaven, the busy sidewalks of the Spine felt safest from violence (if not pickpockets). But safest did not necessarily mean _safe_.

It was the first time he truly gave Clancy a full night of his time to relax and talk and have fun. He should have done that more often. Should have made more time for the few friends he had here.

He had kept Clancy up late into the night talking and laughing, sipping coffee instead of wine, until Clancy begged for sleep. He stayed awake on his couch for minutes or hours after, silent while he ignored the black night outside.

He woke up early Tuesday morning, feeling groggy. Shower, dry cereal (still needed new milk), and then stretches. He hadn’t worked out or exercised in two days and his body was feeling stiff.

Push ups, then he swooped between downward dog and snake to wake up his legs, then settled into plank for a few minutes. Slowly he lifted himself into a handstand. There was that delicious burn. Babs always teased that he’d let all the blood go to his head, but he loved just standing upside down, felt natural this way.

Shifted himself to one hand, then the other. Splits in the air, then butterfly and side crane. Was his center of gravity just a little off? Could he feel it yet? Or was he imagining it?

\---

He got to work early. Amy was already there.

“What happened?” He asked. Everyone was on edge, quiet, angry. Wary. He watched as the cops and detectives talked quietly amongst themselves, recognizing the cliques and groups they conferred in, their voices hush, their eyes darting suspiciously to outsiders like him and Amy, and to the the other alliances. Something big happened.

“The Cardellis and Enzianos shot each other up last night on Buchanan. Twelve dead gangsters, and two cops. Johnson and Drew.”

Dick’s eyes darted to Johnson and Drew’s desks. Chairs empty, the usual mess of papers, a dirty mug from yesterday on Johnson’s.

“No…”

“Yeah,” Amy said grimly.

Dick looked to the Chief’s office. The blinds were drawn.

“They were just answering a call. Word is there were no plans on either the Cardelli or Enziano sides for this to happen, otherwise we might not have sent someone to answer.”

“Any idea what’s going to happen now?” Dick ran a hand through his hair

“Hopefully the Cardellis and Enzianos keep this fight between themselves, and don’t call on the Russians, or piss off the Cartels.”

“Yeah, but. But they’re on good terms.”

“I know.”

So what happened? Dick swallowed, thinking over all the possibilities. A friendly business deal gone wrong? Johnson and Drew were on the Russian's payroll. Things were going to be bad between the Cardellis and Enzianos, and no telling if the Russians would get involved too. Would the Russian’s take retribution for their cops killed, or just let the whole thing slide? The other cops on the Russian’s payroll wouldn’t sit easy if their gang didn’t take retribution.

“Are we safer in the precinct or on the streets?” Dick wondered.

“No idea. But we got a beat to do. You up for it?”

“Yeah.”

They headed out onto the streets. They watched the corners warily. It was a tense day.

\---

“Mornings on Horseback…you into history?” Amy asked when Dick couldn’t keep his thumb out of his book during lunch. He was really reading, “What to Expect When You're Expecting”, but Amy saw the cover of a Teddy Roosevelt biography.

“Uh yeah, sorry, can’t keep it down.” Some men or women kept their pre-pregnancy belly far into the second trimester, while others start showing in the first trimester. Generally speaking, first-time moms begin developing a baby bump between 12 and 16 weeks. Nothing told him when it was too dangerous to get punched in the gut.

Most doctors want your first visit by or around week eight. He was passed that point. He wanted to put it off longer, but could he? How long was it legal to abort? (Shit, did he want to abort?) And he should call Alfred, reassure him that he wasn’t…panicking? Upset? Angry?

“How you doing, Grayson?” Amy asked, concerned.

“…I don’t know.”

\---

A kid was called in for shoplifting, so he and Amy headed in to Bloomingdales. The kid was about Damian’s age, not a teenager, but somehow more adult than child. She had tried to steal several dress clutches, probably to sell them on the Spine.

Her mother was called, and picked the girl up. The woman looked exhausted, and poor. Dick took their names and address; the store decided not to press charges.

“Fun times, right?” Amy asked.

“Yeah.” Dick shrugged. Poverty in Bludhaven. What could he do about that? He wasn’t Bruce, he couldn’t create jobs. He could only fight thugs. If he had gone out last night, could he have stopped the fight between the Cardellis and Enzianos? Or would he have just gotten shot himself in the stomach? Could he have done anything to help the families barely getting by? Did anything he do matter?

“What’s wrong?” Amy came up behind him. He just sighed, thumbing one of the little children’s dresses on the rack. It was bright red, and satiny.

Amy stared at him, then said, “Take a moment to breath. I’ll meet you back in the car.”

“Okay,” he nodded, then sighed again. He was in the kids clothing section, right by the door. These were dresses for 2T to 4T. Toddlers, right? He’d never bought children’s clothes, never even looked at them. The little dresses were so cute, and there was a horrible little tux right next to them. Toddlers would hate that, but just imagine how cute they'd be, frowning like Damian. The first time Bruce and Alfred made Dick wear a tuxedo had been the worst. He rather liked them now, all sharp and stylish, but a kid? Torture.

And a couple racks away there was a little Robin onesie. It had got a red chest, green undies and sleeves, and a yellow cap. It was the most wonderful little outfit he’d ever seen. If only his mom and dad could see it. He’d give anything to have a picture of all four of them, three generations of the Flying Graysons in their show colors. And there was a Batman one right next to it. Little baby Batman, with latches on the undies for easy diaper change. Jason would get a kick out of that.

And tiny little baby shoes. How could people ever have feet that small? There’s Wonder Woman sneakers with velcro, and tiny Superman booties. He has to get them. Even if he isn’t keeping the baby, he has to get them.

When he climbs into the car, Amy glances at his square shopping bag just a moment too long. He smiles, and asks about her kids, insists on knowing all about her weekend. She talks, and doesn’t ask for anything from him in return. He’s lucky he has her.

\---

He regrets the purchase that evening.

Two little dresses, a terrible tuxedo, and six superhero baby outfits. It’s over two hundred dollars. What was he thinking? That he was he going to keep the kid? He couldn’t keep it. He wasn’t ready. Was he going to get rid of it? He didn’t want to kill it. Could he give it up? Bruce would help him find a good family but there were so many other kids who needed to be adopted. He couldn’t drop another one into the system, and take away a home from some other kid who needed it.

And forget trying to get the kid a home- he didn't have time to be _pregnant_. He was Nightwing! And he could show no weakness at the precinct. He wasn’t married, he wasn’t even in a relationship as far as they knew. He’d lose any chance of climbing the ranks. His chances at making sergeant, much less detective, were already slim. Amy’s kids had been _threatened_. If anyone found out he was pregnant, someone would blackmail him, or discredit him as a floozy.

And Nightwing couldn't leave the streets unwatched. All the progress he had made in Bludhaven, against Blockbuster and the gangs, it would revert to what it was before or worse if Nightwing dropped off the grid. How many horrible things could Blockbuster do in the the months Dick had left to be pregnant? Six months, maybe a whole year after recovering and watching a newborn.

And if Nightwing dropped off the grid at the same time Dick Grayson got pregnant... Would someone make the connection?

Maybe Tim or Cass could take over… But Tim had school, and was still recovering from everything that happened in the passed two years. So was Cass and he couldn't take her away from Bruce and Barbara. She needed to be watched for her own safety.

If he was on permanent desk duty, Amy would get reassigned a new partner. She couldn’t trust anyone on the squad. His pregnancy put Amy at risk, put the people of Bludhaven at risk. One baby, versus the safety of hundreds, thousands of other people?

He suited up that night. Every step was with a pang of guilt and anger and resentment. If he was going to get rid of it, then it didn't matter if he got hit, right? (And maybe he wanted to miscarry. Be done with it and forget the whole mess ever happened.)

He prowled the Spine, along the neon lights and crowds of people drunk and laughing. He didn’t think about the gangs unloading on the docks, or the deals going down in the industrial district, just watched for muggers and pickpockets.

He’d helped a woman held at knife point and stopped a car jacking, and was now on the roof of the Sherry Hotel watching the crowd full of business men and women, high class prostitutes, and occasionally real tourists. But a figure dropped onto La Scala Theater roof, across the street from him. The person was tall and broad, darkly dressed and almost indistinguishable from the black sky. They watched him, and Dick watched back, unafraid.

 _Fuck off_ , he wanted to say. He really wasn’t in the mood for company. He hunched down close to his own roof, hoping to disappear in the shadows, and skulked to the side of his building and dropped down into the alley, hoping they wouldn’t try to follow. They didn’t.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Don't kill me, don't kill me, don't kill me, don't kill me_

_Early Wednesday Morning_

Dick crawled in through his window, glancing over his shoulder for any figures or shadows watching him. He _wasn’t_ in the mood to talk. The rooftops were empty.

He was home early, not even two am, but in no mood to go back out. He slammed the window behind him, locking it tight, and pulled the drapes closed. He went to his bedroom, locked that window tight, curtains closed. No invitation. Fuck off.

He went to the kitchen, pulled out a box of cereal, wanting sugar and corn flakes and marshmallows. Then he stopped and stared at it. He needed to be eating fruit and veggies and lean meat. He didn’t want to. He needed to decide what the fuck he was ultimately going to do. He didn’t want to.

He took the cereal with him, and put the action movie he’d borrowed from Clancy forever ago into the player, and curled up on the couch. It was about two hot ladies who were divorced and had a kid, and there was something about a bomb threat. Clancy had insisted he watch it when she found out he was a cop. The divorced detective was even a red head. He _should_ enjoy this.

He first noticed something was wrong when he heard a squeak from the hallway, that one floorboard that was never quiet. He kept facing the television, where the detective was finding out her ex-wife and daughter were missing. The rest of the apartment was dark, and the only shadows being cast were from the TV. But he listened for the sound of the bedroom door, waiting to hear if it would squeak from someone brushing passed, or if it would be the squeaky floor board next to the kitchen table, signaling someone coming towards him.

He waited forever, heart pounding, chewing on cereal. It might have been nothing. Then he heard the tiny squeak of the bedroom door as something brushed against it, and he jumped up.

Through the bedroom door frame he caught a glimpse of a dark shadow, then heard the crash of his bedroom window breaking.

He dashed through his bedroom, leaping over the bed and mounds of laundry and papers to the shattered window. He saw no one as he jumped out, no one turning around corners or disappearing over roofs.

He examined the building, all around the block, looking for footprints, for someone hiding. He had to go back in when he heard distantly Clancy banging on his door.

He stripped off the top of his Nightwing costume, pulling on a robe just as Clancy was getting Helzinger to break the door down.

“Dick?! Are you alright?!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine! I’m… honestly I’m really pissed right now, can you leave me alone?”

Clancy froze, affronted, and poor Helzinger blinked at him dumbly.

“Someone threw a rock through my window,” Dick tried to reassure them. “I’m calling it in and looking for clues. Don’t worry, I’m taking care of it.”

“…we’re just here to help,” Clancy said numbly. “We were scared for you.”

“Dammit, it’s not-” Dick began, running his hand through his hair, trying to reign his frustration and anger in.

From atop the stairs Mr. Law said, “Let the kid handle it, he’s a cop. I’d probably need a moment to fume too if it had happened to me.”

Clancy frowned but cleared out with Helzinger. As she left down the stairs she said, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay Dick.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I’m in such a bad mood,” he replied stiffly.

He firmly shut the door and went back out, looking again for traces of who it might have been, but it was too late. If they hadn't gotten away before, they were certainly gone after Clancy's interruption.

He had first heard the noise in the hallway... He had come in through the living room when he got home from patrol, then he had checked the bedroom and the kitchen.

The bathroom. Whoever it was (and Dick had a hunch) had been in the bathroom as Dick walked unknowingly around his own home.

\---

He didn’t put in a report. He didn't tell Babs. She'd harass him about the security cameras that he'd turned off months ago. Dammit, it was no one's business besides his own!

He went to work on Wednesday, still furious, watching over his shoulder.

“Dick,” Amy had finally said around midday. “Do you think someone’s following us?”

“What?” He glanced at the rooftops again. “I don’t know. Do you think so?”

“I have no idea,” Amy said bluntly. “We’d be pretty low on the Cardelli’s or Enziano’s lists right now. I’d be more worried about people getting caught up in the cross fire.”

Dick had completely forgotten about that. He looked at his clenched fist. “Of course.”

“Forensics found an extra set of footprints at the scene,” Amy added.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. All the other footprints were accounted for among the bodies. Someone walked away from that fight.”

That…wasn’t good.

\---

Dick managed to get through the rest of his day, chasing a mugger, arriving too late to two shootings (one at a home), and dealing with eight pissed off drivers.

The whole time he’d been thinking about that bastard breaking into his place.

That night he finds the figure on the roofs. He watches them. They watch him.

“You broke my fucking window.”

The hulking figure is silent, and breaks their mutual gaze to look down. “I did not.” The man steps forward, and lifts a hand that Dick slaps away.

“You broke into my apartment last night.”

“I did not. You did not wish to speak with me. So I left you in peace.”

Dick runs his tongue over his lips, thinking. “Where did you go after I saw you last night?”

“To the opera at La Scala. I…” The man fell silent for a moment. “I had hoped to bring you there with me.”

Dick wilted. “I’m sorry. I was out of town this weekend, and then I was busy on Monday, and I wasn’t in the mood to talk last night. I went home, but someone had broken in. I thought it was you but…”

“I thought of following you home. But I am wary of your temper.”

“Yeah, sometimes I need to be alone. I’m sorry.”

“And you do not know who accosted your home?”

“Not yet,” Dick gritted his teeth.

The two of them go back to Dick's home and look again, but there’s still nothing to find. Dick is coaxed with heavily accented English and hesitant questions into patrolling the harbor with his hulking companion. They stop the Russians from attacking the Enzianos, saving many lives.

They tie and hang the gangsters up by the feet. “Filth,” his companion says.

“But you’re helping me,” Dick points out.

“Yes. Stopping them from killing each other makes you happy.”

“Seeing you doing good makes me happy. Some of these guys are fathers with kids and partners who love them. Some of them might change their ways and get a new start on life after jail.”

His companion nodded, not quite believing, but willing to agree. “It is…early. Do you wish to fight more, or would you like to go home?”

It wasn’t early, in terms of the night patrol. It was four in the morning, a good time to wrap it up. The early commuters were waking up. People would start trickling on the roads soon.

“Let’s go home,” Dick said. Then wondered about his choice of words.

On his balcony, Dick hesitated before opening his living room door. He reached up to touch the man’s face. “Thank you. I had fun tonight.”

The man nodded, saying nothing.

Dick smiled at his awkward ways. “I need some time to myself right now. So don’t worry if I don’t seek you out. Just give me space, alright?”

“Have I done anything to offend you?”

Dick almost said, “You haven’t done anything,” but that was so completely untrue. So he just said, “No.”

The man nodded and made to leave, but Dick grabbed him by the cheek, pulled him down, and kissed him. They leaned against each other.

The streetlights flicked off one by one, and the world was a dewy orange and pink around them. Dick finally stepped away. “Just hang tight until I’m ready to hang out again, alright?”

The man nodded, but looked nervously confused. Probably over the words “hang tight”.

“I mean don’t worry. Alright? Goodnight Surec.”

The man nodded, more confident this time. “Goodnight Robin.”

\---

From a rooftop a mile away, Red Hood watched through a spotting scope as Nightwing parted with one of the League of Assassins.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason accidentally causes a massacre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's still reading, thank you! I worry there's probably going to be some dropoff after the reveal. Surec is an original character, and he is admittedly more of a plot device than a great character. This story will ultimately end with JayDick. (Sorry it wasn't Slade.)

Back on Sunday night, Jason had stared at the pregnancy tests in the hotel trash bin, wondering what shitfest he had stumbled into. Then, brain fuzzy and numbed, he had stared at Dick asleep on the bed.

As the sun rose, bringing shreds of dim blue light through the shutters, Jason had left through the broken window.

Hours later Grayson had sped down the highway, headed back to Bludhaven. And Jason Todd had been waiting on his own bike, following five car lengths behind.

He had lost Dick quickly, not willing to draw attention to himself, but he found Dick’s bike at the BPD like it should be. He hadn’t dared to linger there, not surrounded by dozens of suspicious, aggressive cops, not when Jason knew he looked like a punk and a hustler.

He found a place to watch from a distance, a rooftop a block over. There were no clear views of Grayson through any windows. But he had a good view of the front and back exits of the BPD. He waited.

The summer sun was hot in his leather jacket, and worse on a roof, and as the first hour passed Jason began to wonder, what was he doing here? Maybe it was that terrible curious part of him, that had followed Dick and Babs and Bruce around as a kid, watching everything they did greedily. Maybe it was the Red Hood in him, looking for dirty secrets he could hoard and hold over the Bats. Maybe it was the Robin in him, sensing something wasn’t right.

Jason pulled back from his scope, and rolled over to sit against the rooftop ledge. Dick was pregnant. That was…really weird. But kind of expected? On the list of people in the Bat Family most likely to have kids, Dick was number one. He'd had lots of relationships, a flirty demeanor, and he had always wanted to get married and have a perfect fucking suburban family with 2.5 kids, a beautiful wife, all that bullshit.

Still. Something wasn’t right. What had Dick said?

_"I fucked up Jay."_

Probably not planned. Probably not wanted. But even considering all that the whole thing just…didn’t sit right. Maybe Babs was pissed? They weren’t together-together right now, though they’d been on and off so many times that it didn’t really mean Babs _wasn’t_  the one who knocked Dick up. Was that why he had been so depressed? Was he about to go through the whole, “Oops, I’m pregnant, sorry?” high school thing with her again?

_"And then he'll find out how much I really fucked things up."_

No. It wasn’t that simple. Something was _wrong_.

A little after 2 PM, certain that Grayson wasn’t going anywhere, Jason climbed down from the roof and sniffed around the district. Hustlers on every other street, gangsters guarding alley doors, homeless and druggies all over. “Hmph. Kinda like home.”

And all within a stone’s throw of police headquarters. Jason couldn’t wait to see what kind of shit was going on where the coppers _couldn’t_  see.

Back to the roof. Eat Thai food, watch and wait.

Dick finally headed home well after the shift change, making a couple stops on his way. He wasn’t showing yet, not in anyway that Jason could tell. God, Grayson being pregnant was going to mess with him. Imagine Dick with a big belly, leaning back against a kitchen counter, hand on his stomach, soft smile on his face. It was appealing in a way Jason wasn’t comfortable with.

Finding a good place to stake out Grayson’s building was challenging, but Jason eventually found a slightly exposed spot two buildings over. There was only a small section of the living room blinds open, but he could see Dick settle down for a nap on the sofa. Jason was feeling the siren call of sleep himself, but he watched and waited. Inside Dick couldn’t seem to settle; he read instead. Did Babs have the place set up to record? Tricky to tell; it really depended on Dickass’s mood. Grayson could be easy going and practical; he could also be closed off and territorial. If Graydick was sensible, then security cameras would be running. If Dickbutt _didn’t_ have security cameras running, that could mean he _was_  involved in some shady shit…or that he just didn’t want an eye from the Batcave constantly watching and judging him.

The sky was red going on purple, the heat was letting up from unbearable to a nice cool evening. It was getting close to business time, and Jason was wondering if Nightwing would suit up or not, when Dick got a visitor. A pretty Asian girl. Was this the baby momma? Jason followed them around town; they went to a show, they grabbed food, they talked and laughed. By the way Dick and the woman interacted, Jason had a strong feeling this wasn’t the suspect. When the duo settled back down in Dick’s apartment with coffee and movies, Jason got frustrated and bored. What a waste of his time. This wasn’t leading anywhere.

So he hit the rooftops looking for something real, something tangible. His research on Bludhaven, though no where near as in depth as what he had on Gotham, showed that Nightwing spent many of his nights along the dock. So that’s where the Red Hood went.

He roamed the shipboard area. Off the Green Line, gangsters were unloading midnight cargo. Probably not union approved. Along Port Authority, there was some sort of meeting going down. From a peep inside, Red Hood saw what looked like a makeshift casino. That probably broke some laws, both government and mafia. Further around the bay, Red Hood saw cars of gangsters pulling up to a warehouse. Bludhaven was busier in one five mile area than Gotham was in twenty.

The gangsters were rather well dressed, at least for a shitpit like Bludhaven, and in a good mood. It looked like a friendly meeting between two gangs, maybe a celebration. There was shaking of hands, a bit of champagne, and enough good food to remind Jason that he was hungry. And then someone looked up.

"Boss, is there...something’s up there.”

The Red Hood tensed, holding very still. First opportunity, he’d jump to the next building. He was looking for info, not a fight.

“I swear, there's a shadow up there, like someone's watching us..."

One of the bosses, a greasy fellow, looked up and brought a hand to his eyes. "Think it's that Nightwing fella?"

"If it is, I'm gonna shoot him so fulla bullets he ain't never getting up again."

A couple of the gangsters aimed their guns up towards the skylights; the Red Hood tensed to leap away, then there was a clang behind him, on the roof. Coming up over the roof edge was one of the mobsters, a tall skinny guy in a red suit, aiming a gun right at him. The Red Hood rolled right as the fella shot.

It pierced the skylight Jason had been looking through. Glass scattered on the gangsters below. They cried out in alarm and anger.

From behind the air conditioning unit, Jason shoots. Misses twice, but the third one hits, and the scarecrow man seizes and falls to his death.

"Charlie!" Someone below screams. "Chaaarlie!!! I'm gonna kill that sonovabitch!"

First blood. So now they're all _really_  out for him. Jason's got mobsters from inside and outside shooting at him, he's got more shitheads climbing up to the roof, it's going great. The night is awesome.

He could swing to the next building, but there's be a couple moments where they might get a good shot at him. He could stay here and take them down one by one. Woulda been nice to have a machine gun for that. Foresight is forewarned, and all that jazz.

Another gangster has reached the roof, and they're crawling towards him. Jason shoots them down. But suddenly someone catches him around the throat from behind. He struggles. Tries to bring his gun up. They grab for it, one hand around his neck, the other around his gun arm. They struggle. Jason pulls the trigger. Misses. He's got the helmet, even if he hits himself he's got a chance at not dying. He shoots again. He really doesn't want to die again. But his vision is going black around the edges, and he's loosing seconds, running out of time, and in a desperate move, he rolls them both, right over the broken sky window. 

Jason grabs onto the edge. The gangster doesn’t.

There's screaming and horror from below now. Jason pulls himself up with bleeding hands, his gloves not quite enough to save him from the jagged shards on the broken window rim. They start shooting again, and it's only their stupidity, or horror, that keeps him from getting loaded full of lead. He's on his knees on the roof, when another mobster is pulling themself over the edge, raging and swinging down with a crowbar, catching Jason solidly on the side. Oww. Ow. Why crowbars? Why always the crowbars? The next swing feels like it break something, and Jason doesn't care anymore, he's not thinking, he's just up, and tackling the guy, and they're both flying off the roof, off the side of the building.

They’re in the air and it's only years of practice, instinct now, that has him shooting the line before he realizes the grappling gun is in his hand. It catches, lower than ideal, but it catches on the building across from them, and reels in, and as Jason swings towards the neighboring brick wall, the mobster behind him falls to his death.

Jason hits the brick none too kindly, but he's not dead at least. Bullets are spraying off the wall around him, and -oh- oh he's shot, he's been shot.

He drops the rest of the way, hitting the concrete from a too high fall. Everything hurts now, and he's curled up maybe.

All around him they’re yelling, aiming guns. A big guys says, "Hold off! Hold off! We need to find out who he's working for first!"

Still incensed, some of them are yelling, "Who are you?!" at Jason who's not particularly listening.

And someone with sense says, "That's...the Red Hood."

"The who?"

"I thought he was in Gotham."

"Who's the Red Hood?!"

And Jason starts to laugh. You’re on stage right now princess, whether you meant to be or not, so you gotta perform. "I'm your worst nightmare, shit faces."

The big guy with the pinstripe suit and forest green hat doesn’t look impressed. "Really, some punk in a motorcycle helmet? You look like a joke. What the hell were you spying on us for, anyway?"

Jason uncurls from the fetal position. He's hurting in every place in his body, but he's not bleeding anywhere. Helmet, bulletproof vest, Kevlar; he always looks less armored than he actually is in his leather jacket and jeans. He'll live another day, just as long as these shit faced bastards don't aim a bazooka at him. "I was just checking out the competition."

"What? You work for Blockbuster?"

"I work for myself," Red Hood tells them from the concrete. He's on his knees now. All guns are trained on him. He's been watching them all talk, and thinks he has them pegged: who are the cowards, who're the cowboys; which ones are smart, which ones are the shit for brains. There's two leaders here: Meathead, the big brawny guy in green, who likes to hear his own voice, and knows something about Gotham. And Slick, an oily sonuvabitch in a burgundy silk suit, who probably thinks he knows how a jacket should be fitted, but his tailor couldn't make those weak shoulders look good even in an Armani.

"Tie up Mr. Red Helmet," Slick says. “We'll find out who he's working for.”

In the warehouse, they tie Jason to a chair. They had had to move the man who fell to his death, leaving a smear of blood and brains on the floor. Slick walks around the Red Hood, feed crunching on glass. "You interrupted our celebration punk. And we're gonna kill you for that. But first, we wanna know who you work for."

"Why, you hoping someone will finally compete with Blockbuster?" Red Hood taunted.

"It won't be some upstart kid from Gotham, like you."

"Isn't that where Blockbuster is from?" That gets scowls on all of them, and the Red Hood laughs. "That's right, the king ruling Bludhaven is from Gotham. Doesn't that piss you off?"

Meathead leans forward. "Shut up. If you don't have anything to tell us, then we'll end this right now." Slick cocked his gun.

"And what if I work for Batman?"

The gun lowered just a fraction. "Is that supposed to scare us?"

"I was just wondering how much influence the Bat has out here. More than I thought."

The gun aims straight at his head again. “We’ll show you how much the Bat matters to us. Fellas, take off that mask. We’re gonna see who this whack job is.”

One of the geniuses walks up to him, and starts trying to his helmet off. A tug and a pull and no dice. “How do you even get this thing off? I can’t pull it off boss!”

Another buffoon joins him and right then is when the cops pull up leisurely, red and blue lights dancing, sirens blaring twice then shutting off. Meathead deflates, more tired than angry. “Jesus Christ and Mary in Heaven, what is this? Are assholes ever going to stop interrupting us? Louie, Jane, go greet the cops.” To Slick he says, “Mr. Cardelli, you want to send one of your boys too?”

Slick gestures one of his own goons out with the others.

“Thank you.” Meathead turns back to Jason, and the mobsters trying to pull the helmet off his head. “Really? How hard can it be?”

The goon stops to take a breath, so does Jason, the helmet still thankfully on his head. “It’s no ordinary helmet boss, I just can’t get it off.”

“Christ, let me try it.” Meathead swears. But before he can take a go, the cops step in, gangsters leading the way. Meathead sighs. “What are you letting them in here for? This isn’t a fucking party.”

Both of the cops are looking pretty brave. “It looks like a party to me." One of them says. "Do we get a piece of this?”

One of the goons that had been sent out to negotiate explains. “They weren’t gonna take what we were offering boss.”

"You didn't offer us anything!" The Bludhaven cop complains. “If you want to get rid of us, you’d better be more cooperative.”

“This whole damn night’s been ruined,” Meathead complains. “We ain’t paying! This is _our_ territory, you ain’t our cops, so get your grubby little hands off our turf, or you’ll be bloodstains.”

“You can’t kill us! We’re Russians. You don’t kill us, or our guys will be swarming all over you.”

“Russians got dozens of cops. They ain’t gonna even notice you gone.”

While the assholes had been squabbling, Jason had been working his hands loose.

He reaches up one hand, and taps the hidden button on his helmet. The idiot’s who’s been trying to get his helmet off is watching the argument between the law and his brothers, but still has his hands on the Red Hood’s helmet and screams as he’s electrocuted.

Jason takes out the guys that dive at him, grabbing one of their guns, and shooting the second guy diving at him, right in the shoulder. But everyone’s drawing a gun, and the fight is in close quarters now. And the cops have drawn their guns too, on guard and completely out of the loop for what the situation is.

Bullets are flying, and someone is a good shot because a bullet ricochets off the Red Hood’s helmet, sending Jason flying backwards in pain at his temple, and the bullet forwards into the neck of one unlucky bastard. The fight startles for a moment, freezing, everyone watching as the gangster claws at his throat, blood spraying.

“Who?! Who did that?!” The chief Meathead roars.

“It wasn’t me!” “I wasn’t me!” The guys around them whirl around to stare at the cops, both with guns raised. “It wasn’t us!” The skinny cop protests. “It was that guy!” He points at one of the slimy gangsters in the burgundy suits, gun also out and obviously recently shot.

“You lying dirty cops. Don’t try to pin this on me!”

“We’re supposed to be celebrating! Freddy, Jacob, Marco - I’ve lost too many of my men today!” The chief Meathead roars. And he shoots both cops and the slick, slimy gangster.

All three men go down. There’s cries of fear and outrage among the other slick burgundy gangsters, and one shoots the chief Meathead in the chest. Meanwhile, Jason is on his belly, inching his way across the glass shards, trying not to get noticed.

Someone pulls out the machine guns. Jason sneaks out the door.


	8. Chapter 8

_Late Monday Night_

He’s covered in blood, in unfamiliar territory, and he doesn’t even have a safe house here. His pride hurts, his body aches from his ankles to his temples; there’s probably a nasty bruise forming on his back where he’s been shot, and he’s got cuts all over his hands, his arms, his knees, everywhere.

He’s honestly tempted to sneak into Dickface Twinkletoe’s apartment and crash there. It’s the only place that feels close to safe right now. But it’s not close and he’s in no condition to hit the roofs. Jason knows how to lay low and survive on the streets. Through alleys he gets distance from the building where everything went down, stays away from the gangs, the dealers, and the prostitutes, the people who would be alert and wary, and goes towards the homeless and drugged out. He hides his helmet and mask in an old smelly wet cardboard box, carries it under his arm, and settles in with a small town of homeless. It’s too dark for anyone to see him clearly in the flickering light of the trashcan blaze. A grizzled old man eyes him, and hands over a thin dirty blanket. Jason tries to refuse, but the man insists.

“Thank you,” he slurs, eyes too heavy to keep open.

He’ll have to track down his bike in the morning. Keep his head down for any gangsters looking for him. Clean this blood off. Why the hell did he come to Bludhaven again?

And then he’s asleep.

\---

He wakes up mad.

In the yellow morning light, the warehouse where it all went down is swarming with cops. Jason watches from a distance through his scope. All the pain from yesterday is five times worse. The lazy apathetic cops from yesterday are now livid and vigilant. Fuck, he needs to get out of here.

And his fucking bike is a mess. It’s virtually unstealable; nobody could get it running without his layered access keys, and it’s got traps for anyone who tries to just roll it away. But somebody had obviously tried. And when they failed, they had taken baseball bats and a sledgehammer to it. It’s his baby, and it’s going to take weeks to fix.

He’s got a couple hundred bucks on him and one credit card, a damp box full of bloody Red Hood gear, a banged up bike and nowhere to put it, and he’s in a mood that could melt Harvey Dent’s whole face right off.

Plans:

  * eat
  * shower
  * punch Dick in the face



He showers at the local shelter. He’s got one hidden set of clothes, thank fuck. It’s just a worn and stained set of t-shirt and jeans, rolled small and stuffed into one of the hidey holes on the bike. He had to peel off and detach the little compartment door, that’s how bad his bike was wrecked. He should have set the damn thing to blow. Woulda taught those shit heads something when they tried to jack his baby. He feels naked and visible in the thin layer of clothes.

He needs a place to hang out for a coupla days, just to fix up his bike, hang low, and watch Grayson.

Even as he was making plans, and eating a breakfast burrito, the back of his mind was remembering the gangsters from last night, going down in sprays of blood. He’d seen worse. They’d all been scum. Still. He liked to plan ahead. Keep the carnage to the worst of the scum, you know? You had to kill sometimes, take out the head of the monster, then watch the legs and arms scurry away after. But all of them dying horribly like that… It just hadn’t been planned.

He pulls a Dick Grayson and gets himself a motel room. Pulls his bike inside next to the bed. He needs real sleep, and then he needs to make plans.

\---

He wakes up after a short nap, and it’s not quite noon.

On reflection, last night really had been a stupid waste of life and time. He hadn’t found out anything about Dick’s possible secrets, and he’d learned that taking a casual stroll over the Bludhaven roofs was shockingly unpredictable even beyond Gotham standards, and that he needed to act with caution at all times. Even more so than usual.

It’s Tuesday and Dick is back at work like nothing ever happened. All the cops around the city have gone crazy, and Jason only checks in on Dick at intervals. He’s tired, he’s sore, and this city’s a mad house. But he gets to work. He sets up a few feeds and starts doing research.

He’s browsing through local rent houses and apartments when he stops and wonders why the _hell_ he’s diving into this so full heartedly. He’s got plans in Gotham, some with deadlines. He’s got people to “meet”, informants to check in with, and more importantly, a couple gangs that he’s taken control over that he needs to keep his finger on. Nothing as big as before, as big as his big debut, but he’s got territory now that he’s investing in long term. And this is a distraction.

And he feels like the stupidest, worst kind of amateur after last night.

He glances up from his bus bench as the cop car with Dick and his partner pulls away. He’s got a tracker on them, so he’s not too worried. But should Grayson be out on the beat with a bun in the over?

He’s not sure who else knows yet, but Babs in undoubtedly in the loop, and probably the replacement too. Jason was probably the last to know.

\---

That night, Dick does go out. Nightwing climbs out of his window, and swings off.

Jason watches Nightwing head towards the Spine and follows from a distance. Dick is sticking close to the commercial district and the brightest nightlife. The Red Hood, stiff and with almost debilitating pain in his back, watches Nightwing intensely, fighting the urge to jump in there himself. All it would take was a gun at too close range, a knife built to cut carbon fiber, or just a brutal blunt force hit in the wrong area. He sullenly watches Dick fight off a mugger in the distance, sour taste in the back of his throat.

Then he hears the screaming from below. He’s on the next street over from the Spine, a street full of people, with fewer lights and seedier bars. It’s the poor man’s main street. And in the alley below he finds a man wrestling a screaming woman to the ground, punching her repeatedly in the face. Her skirt is up around her thighs, her panties around her knees, and it’s already started.

He helps the woman to a hospital, leaving a dead man behind. When he gets back, Nightwing is gone.

It’s only about 1 AM. He’s wishing he had cameras on this side town, or a bug on Nightwing. He heads towards Dick’s building, hoping he might see him, but he only gets a few blocks before gunfire bursts out, fast machine gunfire. It’s an armed robbery at one of the clubs, the whole place a mess of fur coats, Venetian leather shoes, gangster protection, and illegal gaming.

Christ, can’t he stalk someone uninterrupted in this goddamn town? Bludhaven was a fourth of the population of Gotham, so what the fuck?

It was morning before the whole mess was over. The robbers had gone out of the club shooting left and right, hitting gamblers, clubbers, and then pedestrians on the sidewalk as they ran away. The big muscle guarding the club had been shooting at the robbers without a care of the civilians they mowed down in the process. Jason had done what he could to treat the wounded, but there were two people who bled out before the ambulances arrived.

He dealt with the club’s protection crew first. Then he tracked down the robbers.

This was the type of violence he enjoyed, the type where he was in control, the type where he had seen the evidence of their crimes, and knew he was serving _justice_.

He killed four people that night. One was a rapist, second a corrupt bar owner trying to cut his partners out of the deal, three his chief hired muscle, and fourth the lead robber. Six criminals walked away, wounded and warned of the consequences as they ran.

It was morning by the time he got back to his shitty motel room.

\---

_Wednesday_

After a nap (he lived on naps), Jason pushed himself up in bed and grabbed the remote. The local morning news was spare on details about the club shooting on the southeast side. Six people died, the violence hadn’t made it to the Spine, and supposedly the leaders had killed each other. There were worries about an escalating gang war after Monday night’s battle between gangs near the bay.

He gets some work done on the bike while he listens, even if it’s just dismantling the crunched and broken paneling. The chassis was still good, as it should be after the money he poured into it. But the fairing was crushed like aluminum. Oil has been dripping onto the carpet since he brought it in. Jason doesn’t feel too bad. The room is decorated in the worst of 90s style, in pink and purple and teal.

The one thing he had gotten done yesterday was set up three eyes around Dick Grayson’s building. It was a closed circuit connection, linked by wires and encrypted short range transmissions, so no red haired hackers could smell it. It was invisible unless someone went walking around the neighborhood and knew what they were looking for.

He eats breakfast, and checks the feeds around Grayson’s building next, halting mid-bite in his teriyaki jerky when he sees a dark figure fly out of a window, Dick furiously jumping out after him. Dick misses the redirection as the assailant hides in the shadows at the base of Dick’s building, and then runs at the perfect moment when Dick looks to the other rooftops.

Holy shit.

He watches the footage again. Jason can barely see the figure, just a dark shadow darting across the screen.

Jason watches Dick with wide eyes that day, wondering what had happened inside the apartment. Officer Grayson was visibly agitated, anger clear even from a distance. His poor partner seemed to handle it with calm and patience, even when Dick snapped at her. Was he upset just because his pride was hurt, or because of something worse? Maybe this wasn’t some one night stand. Would Dick tell anyone if he was being hurt?

Jason had nightmarish thoughts of Dick being held down screaming, or roofied into unconsciousness, and even bizarre turkey baster thoughts. He had to push it all away, had to clear his mind so he could stay focused.

He followed Grayson around town, closer today, always finding a restaurant or bench or coffee shop to spy from. He glanced at the local newspaper, kept his laptop nearby, and fronted at being another annoying yuppie who spends too much money on fancy coffee and clearly thought he was smarter than everyone else. Jason worried several times that he’d been made. But Dick never came over, never waved, never gave any signal of seeing him. It made Jason more nervous than he liked to admit. Silent brooding Dick meant furious Dick, and Jason had never felt easy around a furious Dick Grayson. Had never known the right thing to do or what to say, if it was safe to do anything. Bruce or Alfred had always been there to handle Grayson at his worst.

Jason tried to get his other work done that day, ignoring the unnerved feeling and terrible fears near the corners of his mind, using the anxiousness to help him focus and get shit done. He checked in with his Gotham eyes. He looked up the history and news on Bludhaven gangs, wishing he had access to Nightwing’s reports. He moved money around. He watches Dick’s scowl, the tension in his shoulders, the way Grayson closed his eyes for a moment of solitude and weariness, before diving back into the job.

\---

That night Jason watches Dick’s apartment.

Nightwing takes off early in the night, and Red Hood follows from a distance. What he sees, he doesn’t like.

Nightwing meets up with a hulking man, tall, thickly muscled, covered in black from shoulders to feet. Jason knows that uniform.

The man has two flat blade swords on his back, but he doesn’t reach for them as Nightwing approaches. He takes a step towards Nightwing, despite the obvious anger in Dick’s stride.

There’s an argument on the roof, all from Nightwing’s side. The assassin lets Nightwing tire himself out, the way Bruce or Babs would, the way Jason always struggled to.

Argument over, the two roam around town, from Dick’s apartment, to Port Authority. From the shadows the Red Hood watches them tie up gangsters, gun hand hanging over his knee, finger rubbing the cylinder, itching.

In the pale pink sunrise, the two stand awkwardly together on Dick’s little balcony. Jason sees the way the big man takes a step back, ready to leave, and Dick takes a step towards him, reaching out and - kissing him.

Jason looks away.

But when he looks up again, through angry hooded eyes, they’re still together. They lean together like two people familiar with each other’s space. Ra’s assassin is tentative in bringing his hands to Dick’s body, but once he touches it isn’t innocent. His hands curve around Nightwing’s hips, fingers resting over the glutes, digging in for a moment, then sooth down.

It’s carnal and obvious what’s happened between them. The fingerstipes of Nightwing’s costume on the man’s biceps, Dick’s leg inching a tiny bit up the other man’s calf, not enough to be indecent, but still hinting at so much more.

Jason sits back from his scope, watching them as small figures in the distance. They separate. Dick goes into his home. The big man leaps down to the lower roofs, and away. The Red Hood should follow him. Jason just takes his helmet off and lays back on the roof, letting the cool morning air hit his face.

\---

The worst thing is he doesn’t know what to do.

There’s no one to tell, no one to ask. He can’t go to any of the Bats; Nightwing is the only one of them he’d dare to approach.

He’s angry. Bitterly disappointed. He wonders what Bruce or Babs would think, of their golden boy spreading his legs for some dumb brainwashed assassin. His throat burns at the hypocrisy, he throws his helmet and his boots and the goddamn pillows around the motel room. He wants to yell at Dick or Bruce. You can sleep with the enemy, can you? But you can’t invite them to a god damn dinner.

It doesn’t even feel real. Dick wouldn’t get into a thing with one of the bad guys they fight, and Dick isn’t going to have kids, he’s going to keep fighting crime, and being Nightwing for forever and ever until they all die.

It feels like a betrayal. It feels more personal than it should. The truth is none of this is any of his fucking business. Let Dick ruin his relationship with the family. Let the Bats have their big drama. Let some outsider fuck the family darling when no one’s looking. Who cares? Not the Red Hood.

But the Red Hood could use this. Let word leak out, tell each of the little birdies one by one, get them whispering and wondering until they finally look for themselves; let the whole shitty family implode. He almost wants to see it happen.

But he remembers the way Dick had looked so lost back in Gotham. Worried and scared, afraid of everyone else finding out who he'd been sleeping with.

Fuck. Jason ran a hand over his face, blinked at the black TV screen. A ghost of himself reflected back, hair sticking up, face indistinct, but the slump of his shoulders looking defeated.

Fucking Dick Grayson.

Jason has things to do in Gotham. He cancels them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm wondering if I should put a trigger warning on this chapter, though I'm not sure how to define what it would be for. Dick stresses a lot about abortion decisions in this and the coming chapters, and I worry it could potentially be upsetting for anyone who's ever been torn on this type of decision. So just, heads up.
> 
> This isn't a political fic, and I hope that everyone can enjoy it, no matter what their opinions. I am a little scared of somehow starting an abortion debate here. I'm going to ask for the sake of my own emotional fragility that, please, no one get into any political debates in the comments? That probably wouldn't happen, but if it did I definitely would not be up for any contention against myself or between readers.
> 
> This preface is probably heavier than the actual prose is. So please, forget my ramblings and just enjoy. :)

The break in to his apartment had happened around 1:00 am. Now it was 7:00 am on Wednesday morning and Dick pulled himself up after a short two hour nap. Though he felt better after the time spent with Surec, he had felt uneasy in his own home, violated and angry. He'd locked the bedroom door, probably the first time it'd been locked since he moved in, and had slept in the more secret areas of his apartment.

Now he stumbled into the kitchen, stretching his hamstrings and shoulders against the wall while letting eggs fry. Protein, protein; he was trying to be good. But he snacked on cereal while in the pan the yolk burst and oozed out. The egg whites looked transparent and mucusy.

He got the food down then pulled on his uniform and stumbled into the precinct about ten minutes late. Amy gave him a look, but let it slide.

\---

The feeling of being watched increased that day. But it didn’t make Dick feel angry this time. Just tired.

“You really do think we’re being watched, don’t you?” Amy asked as they patrolled.

“Hm?” Dick turned away from the rooftops, to look at her. “Yeah, maybe. I’m not too worried about it."

“You were so paranoid the other day. Did you see anything Dick? On the rooftops?”

It was an unnerving question for her to ask.

“I haven’t seen any today,” he tried to joke.

“Things haven’t calmed down yet,” Amy pointed out. “The damn city’s gonna burst. I’m scared the gangs are going to break out into fights, maybe even war. It was the Russians turning in on themselves last night at that club. Fuck, I don't know what's gonna happen. None of it makes sense.”

Dick sighed and pushed his hair back. Gang wars made him think of Tim, and Bruce, and people who weren’t here anymore.

“You okay Grayson?”

“Yeah.” They fell back into silence.

Even if the worst happened, he would have Surec, wouldn’t he? Maybe Barbara would never to talk to him again once she found out; maybe Tim would be too disappointed to look at him; maybe Dick and Bruce would be through and done for the final time, and all of Bludhaven would erupt into war. Even in the worst situation Surec would stay, wouldn’t he?

Surec would fight with him, fight for him. Fight for _them_. Dick, and Surec, and…baby. It was a bizarre thought, but it wasn’t unappealing.

And say things went well, and Bludhaven didn’t implode. They could…move in together? Dick had the space to house them both _and_ a new addition. Or maybe that wouldn't work out, but they could each have their own place, and share the baby. Four nights at Dick’s, three at Surec's. Maybe that should be five/two. No, better yet, make that six/one. If Surec even had a place of his own. But he could get one. Right?

And then Bludhaven would have two crime fighters, a team like Batman and Robin had been. Nightwing and the Arabian Night. Or Nightwing and Sandstorm, the Blade of Justice! Maybe he could convince Surec to drop the blades and go with a wooden sword instead. 

They could fight together. And raise their baby together.

…what a crazy, stupid fantasy.

\---

It had been a slow painful day. And he didn't want to face the night. He would take a nap regardless, and figure out the night when the night came. But of course the afternoon wouldn't be that simple.

Dick could see it as he approached his building: his window was fixed. He jogged up the stairs, barely returning Clancy and Hogan’s greetings as he rushed to get to his apartment.

There was a new window pane installed. The floor and wall around it had been swept down and cleaned up.

“Clancy!” He called, after dashing back to the stairwell. “Did you fix my window?”

“No siree!” She called back up at him. “I would have if you’d given me the time to do it. You don’t have to call your own guys you know,” she muttered the last part.

“Did you see who did it?”

“Some big guy! I never saw him coming in, just caught a glance of him when I was coming back from school!”

“That stupid sonvua-” And Dick slammed his door shut.

On the bottom floor, Chancy threw her dirty rag down. “I’m getting sick of him being so rude!”

Hogun just laughed. “He’s got the face of an angel and the temperament of a teenager, doesn’t he? You get used to it.”

“Well I don’t want to date a teenager!”

Hogun gave her a pitying look, and Clancy wilted.

“I guess I shouldn’t get my hopes up, should I?”

“You never know what can happen Ms. Clancy. Didn’t old blue boy get a package by the way?”

\---

Looking over the fix, Dick had decided Surec had done a decent job at the window, but was still aggrieved that the man had done it without asking first. And he was trying to decide if this was an act of guilt; Surec claimed he hadn’t been the one who broke in, but Dick still had his doubts.

“Hey Dick, there’s a big package for you,” Clancy tentatively called through the front door.

“Huh?” He wasn’t expecting a package. Had Bruce sent something?

The box Clancy handed to him was big enough for an old tube TV, but not very heavy. She fumbled to get it through the door, trying and failing two times until he got to her, and then he got it stuck just the once, before successfully getting it through sideways. When he looked up from where he'd set it on the carpet, Clancy was smiling up at him unhappily. “Are you okay?” She finally asked.

“I’m pretty stressed out,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, I know I can be a real jerk sometimes.”

“Surprised me is all. You've always been so kind and friendly. But we can all be jerks sometimes. We’ll hang out later?”

“When I get some time. Promise.”

“Okay.”

She closed the door and, finally, he could inspect the box.

“I had forgotten all about this!” He exclaimed as he realized it was the bouncer. It was as cool in person as it had been on the computer, with all sorts of colorful characters printed on the seat cushion and little plushies hanging from the rail. He was almost tempted to keep it himself.

But no. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do yet. He had the money, and he could buy another bouncer if he needed one. So he packed this one back up, declined any sort of bow or wrapping, and made the trek down the stairs and across the street.

“Hey Jeremy!”

The man looked up in surprise.

Dick had caught him going up the stairs of the neighboring apartment. They didn’t know each other well; they really only knew each other through Clancy. She had introduced Dick to Jeremy and his girlfriend on this same sidewalk, and Jeremy's own bun in the oven had been announced that day as well.

“Do you remember me? I’m one of Clancy’s inmates? I got out for now, but I have to pass this on real quick before I get caught again. I hope this doesn’t sound too crazy, but I got this big ol’ thing from work. I thought maybe you guys could use it… Here!” He tried to hand off the large box at the man.

“I…” There was a look of shock on the man’s face. “I can’t accept this!”

“It’s no big deal!”

“No! No! I’m so sorry, but no.”

Dick probably looked like a shot pigeon. “Oh.”

“I’m so sorry-”

“No no, that’s fine! This is probably way too big and you don’t have to explain-”

“-it’s just that we’re not expecting. Anymore.”

“…oh.”

Jeremy’s face was polite, apologetic, but fragilely steely, like a glass man pretending to be made of iron. Dick looked down, to his own horror, a quick dart of a look at Jeremy’s stomach, then quickly back up to the man’s nose, sick that he’d even looked. He hadn’t been able to tell; was Jeremy’s stomach smaller?

“Maybe next time.” The man smiled thinly and slipped inside, leaving Dick baking on the sidewalk with the giant present.

Jeremy and Marcie had been so happy. Embarrassed, but happy. Had it been a miscarriage? Had they changed their minds? What did it take to cause a miscarriage? Stress? The summer heat? Too much exercise? A punch in the gut?

There was a bad taste in his mouth as he trekked back to his own building. Halfway to his own floor it became bile.

He raced to his door, leaving the box tipping on the steps, barely swallowing it down as he fought with the key. He made it to the kitchen sink.

Afterwords, he leaned heavily against the counter, laying into his arms. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what he should do.

“Dick,” he heard from his front door, where the little bit of light spilled into his dark apartment from the stairway. “Are you alright?” Clancy asked.

“I’m fine,” he said wiping his mouth against his arm.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I tried to give that bouncer to the couple across the street-”

“Jeremy and Marcie?”

“Yeah. Is everything okay with them?”

“They lost the baby. It was in the middle of the night, remember last week when ambulance was over there?”

“Oh.” He hadn’t been around to see it. “Shit.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said guiltily.

Anger sparked in him, mad that she hadn’t told him. He swallowed it down. “Did they say how it happened?”

“He just started bleeding in the middle of the night.”

“Oh.”

“I grabbed the box…” She maneuvered it through the door again. He let her just struggle, unwilling to get up from where he leaned on the kitchen counter. She managed to set it inside. He wished she wouldn’t intrude any further. She didn’t step over the threshold.

“You’ve been different lately…” She said softly, and the light broadened.

“I’m fine!” He stood up and glared at her. “Leave me alone Clancy!”

She took a step back, hurt. Then he could see anger come over her face too, and she shut the door. He could hear her stalking down the stairs.

Suddenly exhausted, and feeling hurt himself, Dick sat down on the kitchen linoleum, leaning his head back against the cabinets. He blinked away the burn in his eyes, swallowed down the burn in his throat, then had to deal with the sudden urge to retch again. Nothing came up, and he laid down on the floor, too tired to get up.

\---

It was after 7:00 pm when the phone rang.

Dick let it ring. It went to voice mail. But the caller rang again.

Dick pulled himself up off the floor, goosebumps all up and down his arms. “Alfred?” Dick answered.

“Master Dick,” Alfred replied. “And how are you?”

Dick didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I’m okay I guess.”

“Are you? You know, I was thinking of coming and visiting you this weekend.”

“No Alfred, don’t,” Dick sighed again, stumbling to a light switch and flicking it on. There had been some little evening sunlight still coming in from the windows, but the sudden change was enough to make him wince.

“I was thinking maybe I could be of some help sprucing up your apartment, or looking over your equipment. You know, Ms. Gordon has mentioned that you may need a surveillance upgrade.”

“Alfred, no, I don’t want to deal with this right now. I mean, I want you to come visit me, but not yet.”

“And have you made any decisions recently?” Dick could imagine Alfred looking over his own shoulder for any residents of the manor who might be spying on the phone call. 

“No. I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.” 

“Ah. Well, this may be oversimplifying the issue quite a bit, but have you laid out the pros and cons to the situation?”

“Sure, I guess. There’s not… I don’t know. I don’t know Alfred.”

“Of course. It’s a big decision.”

“I don’t think there’s a lot of pros.”

“Ah.”

They were silent between the line for a long moment.

“Do you need any help making an appointment Master Dick?”

“No! No, no, I don’t know yet. Ummm. Give me a couple weeks? Or, I guess, I probably need to decide pretty quickly don’t I? The sooner the better… Wow. Okay. But I haven’t decided yet! Don’t pop in just yet, give me some time to think.”

“Of course. Know that I am always just a call away.”

“I know.”

"I'm here to help."

"I know Alfred. Thank you."

He could hear Alfred begin to say something, then hesitate. “Well. Have a good night Master Richard. Sleep well tonight.”

And then the call was over.

\---

He needed to decide.

The whole deciding part hadn’t really felt real until now.

He needed to… decide. 

Dick had never thought he would consider abortion. He never thought it would be something he’d ever have to deal with. He would get married someday, they’d have kids, it would be awesome. Maybe there’d be a baby before he got married, it happened sometimes. Even then, he’d never thought that he would, might, maybe, actually get an abortion. 

He had the money. He wanted kids. It was just the timing. His responsibilities. The lives that depended on him. And Surec.

He cared for Surec. He believed in Surec. There were villains that Batman and the family had helped before. As futile as the fight was against evil so often seemed there were sometimes rare moments when they did change the bad guy’s mind.

Surec was already on that road. 

(But there were also times when Surec still scared him.) 


End file.
